dwayne

From an early age Dwayne Fontaine had been a bit of a political animal. He was a firm believer in human rights, equality for everyone and a woman’s right to vote. As long as she was escorted by a male so she wouldn’t get too confused with all those boxes to tick. So it was odd’s on that when he left university with an honours in political things that a glittering career beckoned.
Like most people keen to impress Dwayne started at the bottom. Tony Blair liked his licked, David Cameron was more of a finger man and Gordon ‘I’ll make your fist’ Brown, well Dwayne would rather not say what he liked. All in all things were looking up for Dwayne until he slipped on a lump of Blunkett’s bitch’s dog shit and Ed Balls, who was happily kneeling in the doggy position, had another head inserted just above his balls. Dwayne quickly became a political black sheep. He had enough time to shower Ed Balls’ political disgust off him, pack a suitcase and get a cheap last minute package deal out of the country. He walked through customs in a semi coma.
It was about this time a coup was forming in the little South American country of Los Labrador. Enrico Loco Morcoco, the head of the all powerful Crufts Cartel, the largest supplier of dog biscuits’ in the whole of the America’s, was bored and looking for another hobby. Why not overthrow the government and run it my way he thought at 4pm. By 5pm the plan was formed. By 6pm he was sworn in as the president of Los Labrador. Things happen quick in those parts. By 7 he was bored and realising that shooting everyone involved in the last government was a bit silly he decided he needed another idiot to run the country. There was already rioting on the streets and the army were struggling to contain it. But where could he find a man who would work under the constant threat of death? He got on to his advisors to find him a fool.
On the long flight it finally sunk in that Dwayne’s political career was over. He downed more and more drink to blot out the pain. And after 17 hours a very drunk and a very shell shocked Dwayne arrived at the Enrico Loco Morcoco National Airport of Los Labrador and didn’t seem to realise that no one else was getting off the plane. Or that no one was there to greet him. Or that passport control were not controlling anything. Or that his baggage was nowhere to be reclaimed. Or that his tour operator rep had been shot dead and then raped and yes in that order. Or that there was a riot going on outside the airport. Indeed he didn’t even notice Wayne Fontaine the now defunct American politician that Dwayne walked right over to get into the limo that a very scared driver was standing by while holding up the name Wayne Fontaine on a placard.
Enrico Loco Morcoco was a firm believer in names that rhymed brought great luck, happiness and vast wealth. His very inept deputy was called Danfango Fandango, his P.A. Maria Garcia was not the first in her class either. In fact she struggled to find the class due to the fact that she partied non stop and would fuck anything with a cock. But seeing that all Enrico done was ply her with coke and fuck her when he felt like it he saw this as a bonus. And now he had the American pig Wayne Fontaine to come over here and run his country like the puppet he was. Name rhyming wasn’t great for everyone of course and this bastardo was going to learn that the hard way. He laughed as he saw the limo pull up on the drive and nearly swallowed his cigar when he saw the purple stockinged faced politician get out. God these white people were strange.
Dwayne was taken aback when he got out of the car and saw a massive white hotel surrounded by lots of armed guards. Typical fucking foreigners’ he thought. One Englishman and the locals overact with a massive police presence, well like fuck if they were going to spoil his holiday. A well dress tour rep called Danfango came out and took him in. He passed lots of beautiful girls and was taken to meet the hotel manager personally. Maybe these £99 holidays from the internet weren’t as bad as he thought. He changed his mind as the hotel manager hugged him and told him he was the saviour coming to sort out all the problems here. These hotels chains should sort out their stuff in house.
After 2 days it was clear that his reputation had arrived before him, although in a good way. Although the D in Dwayne was obviously silent in this country the respect shown to him wasn’t. There was no mention of Shitgate. And he could put up with them mistakenly calling him American and not English. And although he never got to see the swimming pool either he didn’t mind at all. It was like a busman’s holiday. He was chauffeur driven everywhere and shook so many hands he couldn’t remember all the people he had met. They even had a nickname for him ‘El Presidente.’ Dwayne knew that his degree would be recognised around the world but this was mind blowing. And when his room was swapped from the hotel into the presidential palace he never batted an eyelid. Why should he? He was on the best holiday one could ever have. And when he was given a speech to read in Spanish he quite happily read it to thousands of people in the town’s main square. Enrico had written it and it was all about the way England felt about this country apparently. God the people had loved it.
Enrico Loco Morcoco was surprised by the naivety of the American but utterly delighted. He accepted every invitation with a smile and didn’t once question anything put to him. He even called off the sniper he had hired in case it all went horribly wrong. The people were taking to this stocking face creep like knife to butter. He waved at everyone, kissed every baby and went into the most dangerous places as if it was the most welcome place on earth. The country had never been so happy. What an earth could go wrong?
Henry Ponsonby was a political hack who hated politics and thus was sent off to the far corners of the earth to cover things that weren’t of any significance and would never ever be read by anyone. Only the old school tie kept him in the liquor hazed world that he had become accustomed to. And as he walked through the surprisingly nice airport of Los Labrador he didn’t notice the smiling people ready to greet him. Or the happy workers filling in the millions of bullet holes on every wall and ceiling. Or the happy people all over the airport. He just wanted to find the nearest bar, the nearest whore and spend the night in oblivion while being rode like Wayne Rooney in an old folks home. He hated coups and the fucking idiots that run the country after one. How could this one be any different?
As Dwayne was packing he was thinking of how much he’d enjoyed his 2 week stay and the thought of going home didn’t fill him with glee. But one thing was sure, he’d definitely come back to Los Labrador again. Enrico the hotel manager was a splendid chap and had so many connections. Dwayne would definitely take his email address and keep in contact. He might even invite him over for tea in the not too distant future. He looked in the mirror and smiled at himself. He had brought £500 in travellers cheques yet hadn’t spent a penny. And in the wardrobe he had 9 more perfect fitting suits like the one he was wearing now to compensate for his lost luggage. What a remarkable country this was. He was even escorted everywhere by machine gun toting tour guides but Dwayne didn’t know why. Everyone loved him here. He actually felt at home here. . What exactly did he have in England? No job. An outcast in his own society. Dwayne had even got used to the food here although he did pine for some haggis. His favourite dish of all time. There was Churchill his cat. Although there probably wasn’t now. Unless he’d learned to open tins for himself. Come to think of it buy them himself. So there was no one waiting for him. So why go home?
Enrico laid down flat on the bed as Maria Garcia whispered passionately in his ear and Danfango Fandango gave him some great head. This American was crazy he thought. He’d hired him for 2 years and he was only here for 2 weeks and yet he was seen packing his bags by the man who was watching the hidden feed into his bedroom. Enrico knew things were bigger in America but he was sure that one American week didn’t equal one Los Labrador year. Or did it? He had watched 24 with Keifer Sutherland and that only lasted an hour. And 48 hours with Eddie Murphy had lasted and hour and a half. And 9 and a half weeks had only lasted………….He couldn’t remember. He always turned it off after coming during the rainy alley scene. His head suddenly hurt. What was the American up to? Fuck it he thought. The country might have been happy but something was up and Enrico Loco Morcoco didn’t like to be doubled crossed. He picked up the phone and rang up the sniper. Easy come easy go. And then Danfango Fandango done the bit with his finger on his balls that he loved. He arched his back as his cum flew down the eager deputy’s throat. Easy come and easy go indeed.
Henry Ponsonby was checking the net and yes it was definitely him. It was the first time in, well he couldn’t remember, that drink and girls had stayed away from his lips. But the minute he’d seen the purple headed freak on tv he knew it was the one from the Ed Balls incident. Fuck me this was going to win him every prize going for journalism. He might have changed his name to Wayne and called himself American but he should’ve got rid of the stockings and glasses as well. But he’d never met a smart politician yet. Well he might have but he was always too pissed to remember. Not anymore though. He dreamed of the recognition he deserved as he jumped into a taxi and headed to the presidential palace. God he loved his job. For once. He put his head out of the window to grab some air and a motorcycle nearly took it off. That idiot will kill someone he thought as he pulled it back in. He put it through the window again to shout out at the maniac and was knocked out by a head but from St Bernard running at full pelt along with about 50 other barking dogs.
Pedro Electro was Enrico’s favourite assassin. He name rhymed. He like 80’s music and films and was an avid keeper of dogs that no one wanted. Thus he was happy to be paid in dog food. Fair enough the dogs always gave his position away but what policeman is going to arrest someone protected by 50 vicious pooches? He pulled the throttle back on his motorbike and howled at the top of his voice. The pursuing dogs howled in tandem. Life was good. But going to be very short for one unsuspecting man. Although he felt a hint of sadness, the crazy fucker was the best and bravest leader he’d ever known. Getting among the people and promising them everything in his funny speeches. But the moment passed quickly. His beloved dogs needed to eat.
Churchill the cat was nothing if not loving and intelligent and with the finest nose in England. He had escaped from his prison by climbing up the chimney and had followed his flatmate’s scent all the way to Heathrow. He climbed through a fence and was nearly squashed by the wheels of a giant steel bird. And then nearly by another one. Exhausted he had sought refuge in an open empty container. He awoke as its door was shutting. He bolted to the door but it had shut. Where was he going to end up? He felt very lost without his beloved flatmate who he was sure he would never see again.
The container was put on a plane and took off for its destination. The men on the plane were very happy seeing their lucky container arrive back. It had brought dog biscuits with cocaine inside from Los Labrador over 30 times now and was never ever even searched. Enrico Loco Morcoco would be laying on a lavish party for them tonight. It had become a ritual. They would open the container and all sing and dance as it was filled up with drugs again. Inside one very sad cat was munching on a dog biscuit. There were a few lying around so he knew he wouldn’t go hungry. And fuck did he want to talk bollox with someone. What weird biscuits. No wonder dogs never shut up. All of a sudden he didn’t feel hungry but the crumbs were surely nice to sniff.
Dwayne was glad to be invited to a party at the hotel. It was the perfect opportunity to ask Enrico if he could help him stay here. The party was in full swing when he arrived and the sight before him warmed his heart. These lovely people were dancing around a container box. How humble that a down to earth everyday thing was revered here. It was probably donated by the hotel and it would bring the leftovers here to the poor people on the street. A lump formed in Dwayne’s throat. He loved this place.
Enrico saw him get out of the limo and greeted him with a hug. He loved having the power over people’s lives and believed that if you hug someone about to die because of you then deep down you weren’t too bad a man. He was from a highly religious background but didn’t really believe that God was all powerful. Although if he was called God Todd or God Rod he would like him more. God Todd Rod would’ve made him just sound silly. Only he sounded great with three rhyming names. He ushered the American through to the pool and left him there. He had four cameramen filming and the one that got the best footage of Fontaine’s head exploding would get a healthy bonus. No one knew when it would happen. Pedro Electro insisted on this. For now the cameras were focusing on the naked girls parading around but as soon the sound of barking dogs were heard every camera would turn towards Dwayne. This was the big flaw in Pedro Electro’s plan. But no one ever minded. Everyone loved a good assassination in Los Labrador.
Henry Ponsonby had awoken in a dark alleyway. He had been robbed and his arse was sore. The sound of laughter and music over a big fence seemed the best way to get him out of this situation. Dwayne Fontaine could wait until tomorrow. He needed Cunt and Cognac. He climbed over the fence and joined the party. All the time a guard had his sight trained on the intruders head. But he wouldn’t shoot. He liked his arse when he fucked him earlier. Actually he’d liked the mans lips as well and for the first time ever he had kissed an unconscious lover. The chance of a repeat performance was too much. In fact he thought he might be in love for the very first time. He could drug him constantly and they would live in bliss for the rest of his life. He’s prayed to God everyday and at last his prayers had been answered.
Dwayne was having a great time. All the girls were flocking round him. He’s seen tits before but only on tv. They were much nicer in real life. Like lovely jelly moulded into heaven. Well he was having a great time until an old drunken man practically pushed him into the toilets.
Henry Ponsonby drank 2 bottles of tequila in super quick time to get rid of his arse sore and couldn’t even ask the girl giving him felatio her made up party name because he was so drunk. But as soon as he saw Dwayne Fontaine he got up staggered over and pulled him into a toilet. Once in there he made a series of grunts and wheezes. God this tequila was strong. Dwayne pushed him off and walked out disgusted. He was the first rude person he had met in this country. Maybe they could learn something of the way an Englishman acted abroad. He decided to stay away from the tits and close to Enrico. After all he was an ambassador for England in this beautiful place and one drunk local was not going to spoil it for him.
Danfango Fandango told the band to stop and called everyone around the container and Dwayne walked up to open it. Danfango had earlier asked Enrico if he should wait until the American was killed but Enrico had told him to go ahead. It wasn’t as if he’d know what was in the buscuits. And he liked the idea that the puppet president would clap with enthusiasm as drugs were put in. In fact he should maybe be the one to open the container and load the first one on. That idea pleased Enrico immensely and it was all arranged. In fact he got so carried away he ordered a western music type dj. But a local one of course.
As Dwayne bent down to open the container the crowd drew round with happiness until the sound of barking filled the air. The cameras went forward as the people ran back. All except Henry Ponsonby who needed his scoop and wasn’t going to wait for the tequila to wear off. He jumped on Dwayne as he opened the door. The guard fearing his beloved lover would cop a bullet looked round and spotted Pedro Electro about to take aim and shot him between the eyes.
The dogs looked at their beloved master fall on the floor and then at the guard with the gun. Torn apart with rage they ran towards him in a mad haze. The guard fired at the pack but all the shots went high or wide. When he ran out of ammo he turned around and ran in terror. If he was going to die it would be in the arse of his lover. He jumped on Henry Ponsonby, pulled his trousers down and entered him as the first dog arrived to tear them apart. The rest arrived at intervals after. The St Bernard didn’t actually make it. He was tucking into a pallet of dog biscuits.
As Dwayne hit the floor he pulled the lever and the container opened. He thought it would be a happy occasion but quickly found himself under the drunken man from the toilet, a man who seemed to be fucking him and 50 odd dogs who were very fucking angry. He knew he was about to die. His life flashed before his eyes. His decision to enter politics when he was 5. His happy parents waving him off to conferences. His first day at the young Conservative party conference. The experience of getting raped at his first Conservative conference. His first day at the young Labour party conference. The experience of getting raped at his first Labour conference. Add to this the same experiences at the Liberal/Democrats, National Front, Socialist and Twin Tibet with Twickenham Conference and he was going to die a very unhappy fucking man. How could he have suppressed this much abuse to the inner working of his mind? If he ever survived this he would bring down every fucking government in the world. Anarchy in the UK played in his head.
Skunk le Punk, the only New Wave dj in the town was surprised that he got his very first booking ever but turned up at the party anyway. He expected to play some tunes but had been denied so far. He gradually accepted this and just sniffed more and more coke and fucked more and more birds in frustration. But once the band stopped he thought this was his cue to play. What better than Anarchy in the UK. The best punk record ever. A guard shot him dead before the first 4 bars finished.
Churchill was just about to talk himself into oblivion, he couldn’t wank anymore, when the doors opened and his flatmate’s scent poured in. Then his flatmate’s screams poured in quicker. Churchill sniffed the last biscuit and tore out of the container like a Millwall supporter at a Leeds train station. Within two minutes he’d glassed 43 dogs, fucked 6 of the bitches and hammered a St Bernard into submission before he’d sniffed all of Churchill’s new buscuits. Fuck me life was good. A guard shot 6 rounds into the ground next to him. He avoided it with ease. God these cunts would last two minutes down Millwall he thought as he tore the throat apart of the nearest machine gun toting Latino. “Lets fucking have it” he meowed as he killed a few more of them. His granddad had been a ratter down the docks in south London and now the Bermondsey fucking attitude was boiling up in him. He killed a few more foreigners and then went to lick his flatmate.
Dwayne stood at the graveside and as the coffin was being lowered into the ground he said a little prayer. Once he’d been told the truth by Danfango Fandango, or to give him his real name Jeff Smith, an undercover agent for the D.E.A he had felt a bit silly but Jeff assured him that the charismatic Enrico Loco Mococo, or Miguel Jesus to give him his real name, had fooled lots of people in his lifetime he felt better. And he wanted to come to his funeral. If it wasn’t for this man who knows where his life would be. And he was in a good position. Plus it was my cat that killed him. He thought of Churchill who was back in London at The Priory Clinic being weaned off dog biscuits. God he loved that cat.
At the wake Danfango Fandango, or Jeff as he used to be known, came to talk to Dwayne. He was staying here to run the dog biscuit business. No one knew he’d been in the D.E.A. and he didn’t see why his life of luxury shouldn’t continue. The dog buscuits made enough to keep the whole town happy and the drugs were no part of the business anymore. Did Dwayne want to be a part of it? Dwayne looked around at all the naked women partying, wakes were better out there, and thought how could he give this up? But he knew deep down that he had to return to England. Because he was destined for greatness in the political world. And he only had one question for everyone.
Would you vote for Dwayne?